


Gun In My Hand

by Crimsonsparrow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Free Verse, M/M, Memory Loss, Slow Build, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4477190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimsonsparrow/pseuds/Crimsonsparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pain. That is something The Soldier knows, each mission passes in a blur and he doesn't know how to react beyond parameters set to him. So maybe it's fate when he sees Steve Rogers there during the assassination of Nicholas Fury. The story line will be going AU, following an assassin who starts to remember flickers and ghosts of the past and Captain America realizing HYDRA had gotten their hands on the man he loved. (Still loves.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gun In My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is all Bucky! Please bare with me that this is going to be a slow start in the very start! I promise the ride will be well worth it. I haven't written fanfics in a long time so bare with me! C: 
> 
> If you have any suggestions to where the plot should go or hell, just want to shoot the shit with one another hit me up on my Tumblr - http://starspangledfuckyeah.tumblr.com
> 
> All typos and fluffed up messes are mine and mine alone, thanks.

Light - it fluttered, brilliant in the luminescence while shining from above. Eyes parted slightly, mouth heaving in a harsh breath; gasping, sputtering for air. Lungs screamed for their need of oxygen.Thoughts slashed violently upon the forefront of his mind before shifting slightly realizing something - he was alive. A cacophony of thoughts were like a torrential down pour, while the crystalline eyes opened further. Pain, it was so volatile, screaming through every fiber of his being. Everything came pouring back, squinting against harsh lights of the light above his head.

A train.

A man, thrusting his hand through the snarling wind, fear etched in his features. "Take my hand Buck!"

Falling.

Pain, so much pain.

"The asset is awake once more. Please ensure that he does not go through a system failure again. If we want this arm to work we need to work in the parameters set." A voice spoke out, almost delighted on the edge of bright lights. Zola. Yes, he knew the name of that voice. It was one of the constant devils within the hell he was snared within. It was as if the pudgy bastard knew the very thoughts which snarled through Sargent Barnes mind for the simple fact he stepped closer, light haloing his head. "We'll get you ready for your new life mission Sargent Barnes." A grin set in place as if he told one of the best jokes known to man.

Maybe if he knew how to form words against the pain in his mind something would've escaped him besides a forceful snarl. Those crystalline eyes burned with fire, prepared to kill them all. Prepared for the very worst. It had been weeks of them constantly tearing apart every new hunk of metal they tried to replace his limb with. It was heavy, hard to move and an eye sore. But it didn't matter, constantly he'd clutch to any fray of hope. There'd be a way to escape this, a way to get out from the hell.

More pain.

All there ever is anymore is pain.

Weeks have bled into months and there's so very little that remains of Sargent Barnes. A ghost has more substance than his mind which is falling to shreds. Anytime a half coherent thought passes, he chases after it, fumbling madly for a foot hole to latch onto. Why is there nothing that his mind will hold onto? There's no substance. Constantly questions are asked to him, intentionally digging to see if the asset will utter something about his past. He's learned better than to mention it. Anytime he questions why they're doing such a thing, there's more pain. Do. Not. Question. HYDRA. Yes he knows this much at the very least. There is no reason to give them another reason to viciously rip into his body as if there was nothing more than a piece of clay needing to be shaped. A blade who was being ground against stone - that, he decided was how he felt. A weapon had a purpose, a weapon could have freedom.

Yes, that's it. A weapon does not have a choice. They are there to kill. So simply like that so many years of his life also flutter by, never wavering. From being commanded to train those in the red room, to wiping out political leaders he has become a nightmare and calling card for HYDRA. Act out of protocol and correction will be necessary. Just like a weapon, constantly the soldier is put away until he is needed. The cold has become a solace, one of the few things that ease any of his mumbled memories away. It is nothing more than jargon trying to pierce through white noise. Years could pass, and the soldier is unaware. The only new thing to him is the handlers change when many years pass. Weapons that he uses are becoming lighter with better kill rates, and with that he becomes better.  
\---  
Rumlow, that is the name of the new handler. The Soldier thinks nothing of him, there is no room for opinions in the options that were left in his mind. Crystalline eyes are focused on the dark haired man before him, the only sign that he is even alive is the swell of his chest when breathing is necessary. "Alexander Pierce wants to have a meeting with you. There's a new target you got to kill." Those mirthless depths follow Rumlow as he moves towards the files on the tables, pulling out one for the soldier to read. Offering it over, he grabs it with the flesh hand to ensure the paper isn't crushed before the details can be read.

> Target: Nicholas J Fury.

Within the file are photos and notes of the threat he'd be facing. It takes him seconds at best to garner all information worth memorizing. As the file states they've failed previously so there is no other choice but to wipe out the threat themselves. Offering the paper back to his handler, eyes remain locked, inventive.

"We set out in two hours. Make sure your arm is tuned up." With orders in mind, The Soldier slides out of the room as if he were no more than a shadow.

\----

Finding the target is easier than he imagined. Fury did not strike him as the type of man who'd purposely put himself in plain sight, so the Soldier does not react from his sniper roost, fingers curled tightly about the trigger waiting. What is going to happen? He could've killed the director of SHIELD long before now. Yet, there's a nagging feeling there. All of this seems too easy, and generally easy kills come from the civilians who have no idea that their death is a price to pay so that they'll have protection in the long run. Generally the white noise consumes his mind, blocking out everything but a mantra of the mission. Nicholas J Fury was going to be killed, it didn't matter what ploy might've been at work then. They'd all realize there was no escape.

There was another man in the apartment, staring intently a part of his mind murmured something. _What was that?_ Nothing. A breath lighter than all the other's escaped, pressing down on the trigger. Glass splintered as the bullet tore through, hitting Fury. The target was hit. Normally he'd have made sure that the target was killed, but risking himself seemed to be a stupid notion even if he wanted to. It'd be risking the enemy, especially when the man with golden hair stared upward at him.

It didn't take a genius to know what tactical command would come next. Retreat. Slipping the gun back away, the metal appendage clicked in place, gears whirring while he rocked on his own heels. Another level breath, turning his light steady foot steps bring him further across the roof. Below he hears more glass shattering, mission compromised? No. Instead of focusing on that, eyes remain set forward. There's a car set waiting for him three blocks over. That means evading whomever is chasing him long enough for that. Sparing the slightest of glances downwards through one of the windows, he realizes it's the golden haired man storming after him. Trepidation snarls through his gut, he doesn't even realize that emotions are left in his main frame. Main frame? Mind. _I have a mind._

What a startling thought that is.

Throwing himself off of another roof, The Soldier rolls in a tumble, getting upward once more. Right behind him another window shatters. Calculating precision of how many steps there is until the edge, his strides grow faster. It's just as he's about to jump from the roof, he hears something slicing through the air, heading right at him. Turning suddenly, his metal appendage seems to react on it's own, catching... a shield in his hand? Flowing into a stance which braced his muscles properly The Soldier throws it back at his pursuer hard. There's a moment where his mind flounders over the fact that this man is still up and standing after such a throw.

There is no time to dwell on such things.

With that he is gone over the edge of the room, safely to the car where Rumlow is waiting for him. The Soldier does not make a noise as he settles there, hands folding neatly over his lap. "Mission report." This he knows how to respond to. So he does, uttering every detail. What he doesn't realize is that he's exposed Steve Rogers as working with Fury.

Silence settles - white noise leaking away to thoughts. Who was that man? There is no place for him to question such a thing. Instead he's patient about returning to base. There will be another wipe to ensure that the memories of this kill do not leak and interfere with another kill. This is something HYDRA learned to do after The Soldier killed Howard Stark and his wife. Soon enough there won't be any reason to question who that man is. There was something familiar about it though. Something familiar about this city. Has he been here before on another mission? That's not of import. 


End file.
